


Time Is On My Side

by Efflorescent



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Grinding, John Winchester - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, PWP, Romance, SPN - Freeform, Sex, Slash, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, and being a horrible father, back to the future - Freeform, castiel - Freeform, make out, mentions of Sam Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Efflorescent/pseuds/Efflorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t an expert in this field. Killing monsters, shooting with deadly accuracy, quoting Star Trek, hell, he can even make moonshine. But he has learned from past experiences -- and a few slaps across the face -- that things in this field are most definitely not his niche. So when Dean Winchester realizes that he is in love with an Angel of the Lord, he can’t help but be surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Is On My Side

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a little Destiel porn.  
> Disclaimer: I heard the bank laugh very loudly at me as I walked passed this morning. Safe to say I'm not getting paid for this, then.
> 
> Feel free to follow me and send me prompts for what to write on [Tumblr](http://little-spn-obsessed.tumblr.com/)

            It took five years, seven months, twenty-three days, and seventeen hours before Dean realized it. (But who’s counting?) Dean is, contrary to popular opinion, not stupid. Sure, he didn’t have the same drive as Sammy when it came to academics, but who the hell needs to know the metaphorical significance of Boo Radley’s toenails? He didn’t need any of that shit to be considered smart. As long as he’s not drooling on the floor in a pile of his own urine, unable to string a coherent thought together, he’s content. But still. Five years, seven months, twenty-three days, and seventeen hours isn’t exactly Olympic gold medal worthy. He can’t really be blamed, though. He wasn’t an expert in this field. Killing monsters, shooting with deadly accuracy, quoting Star Trek, hell, he can even make moonshine. But he has learned from past experiences -- and a few slaps across the face -- that things in this field are most definitely  _not_  his niche. So when Dean Winchester realizes that he is  _in love_ with an Angel of the Lord, he can’t help but be surprised.

            It’s not one of those moments that movies tells you it’s going to be. There’s no pause in sound, pounding heartbeat in the ears, deep soul staring – though there is staring – that makes the rest of the room fade to nothingness. It’s none of those things and Dean almost wishes that it was as cliché as that. No, rather, Dean is just sitting on the couch in the bunker with Cas sitting next to him on his right. He’s sipping from a beer watching Cas watch  _Back to the Future_ , observing his reaction to one of his favorite movies to see if the angel likes it. It’s a random scene in the movie that forces the thought to travel across his mind, passing by as casual as morning joggers in a park. Marty is leaning down towards his dog, Einstein, petting him a little. As the door in the back of the semi opens, the dog tilts its head slightly and Dean’s peripherals catch Castiel mimicking the movement. Dean can feel a dopey smile coming to his face like when Sammy had won first place in the science fair when he was in fourth grade. Just as the Delorean’s license plate shows up on the screen reading “OUTATIME”, Dean’s mind huffs out a quick “God I love this guy” before he even realizes what he’s about to think. Dean’s blood turns into needles and he freezes immediately to ask his mind what the hell it just did.

            He suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. Like  _ridiculously_  thirsty. He should get up. He should go and get some water. Beer dehydrates you, doesn’t it? Maybe he should ask Sammy. Sammy would know. Yeah. He’ll ask Sam. How would he even ask without sounding stupid? “Hey, Sam. Does beer dehydrate you and am I in love with Cas?” yeah he’ll ask – NO. Holy shit. Dean thinks he might be breathing too hard. What if Cas notices and looks at him? God please don’t look at him. Dean’s good with a poker face, but not like this. Not under this pressure.

 _“Doc!”_  Dean can hear Marty calling out animatedly on the television screen. Dean feels like he’s going to be sick to his stomach. This is worse than the time he was thirteen and his father hadn’t left them enough money for the two weeks he was gone. Dean had to budget to the final two days and ended up only being able to afford 5/$1.00 packs of gummy worms for Sam and himself resulting in the worst stomach ache he had ever had.

            How could he be in love with Cas? No, alright. It’s… it’s not as though Dean hasn’t noticed men before. He’s a flirt by nature. He does it without thinking and if a guy squeezed in between those moments of flirtation, then so be it. Sure he likes women. He likes women a _lot._ But he’s not  _blind_. He can appreciate aesthetic. He remembers the first time he had a crush on another guy. He was twelve and it was the son of one of his father’s hunting partners. John had not been father of the year after he found Dean and this sixteen year-old boy lip-locked behind the shed. He had sent Sammy to his room when his kid brother kept running around his ankles wondering why dad was grabbing his brother by the scruff of the neck like a newborn kitten.

“We are Winchesters, boy.” John started as he took the belt from around the loops of his pants, a silent command for Dean to assume the position as he lit up Dean’s rear with more vigor and anger than when Dean had “let” Sammy put a scratch on the Impala. The belt licked the back of his legs and shins on more than one occasion as John forfeited his accuracy for strength.

“We’re  _WINCHESTERS_ , boy” was all the explanation Dean received as he gasped and choked on sobs to try and control his breathing as his father lay into him until his arm got tired. Of all the punishments Dean had received at the hands of his father, this was probably the most effective. Sure he would flirt with guys from time to time, but definitely never something that couldn’t be played off as friendly. It wasn’t until his father’s death that Dean liberated himself slightly and silently confronted his sexuality. Of course Sammy would never know.  _Could_  never know. They’re Winchesters. But Dean can’t help it. He definitely can’t help it with… with Castiel.

Castiel is kind of amazing. He’s unintentionally funny and socially incompetent. He’s got an incredible birth of knowledge that Dean’s always found admirable, but can’t understand a knock-knock joke. He’s snarky and pissy at times, he calls Dean out on his bullshit, and he makes Dean try harder. He makes Dean  _better_.

 _“…this is a big one! The one I’ve been waiting for all my life!”_  Dean hears Doc call out in excitement before he finally wills himself to look at Castiel only to find the angel’s eyes boring into his own.

He also has those damn azure eyes. Dean calls them azure because one time he and Sam were at a Home Depot getting new iron crowbars when Sam made him wait near the painting section so he could ask an employee where to find them. Dean had stood awkwardly before meandering towards the paint color samples and flipping straight to the blues. He saw azure and immediately thought of Castiel. He stared at it – like he was won’t to do when the angel was actually there – for so long that an employee asked him if he liked the color. Thinking on it now, Dean realized he ran from the situation not because the woman was undressing him with her eyes, but because Dean did like the color. He liked the color a lot. It was quickly becoming his favorite color and Lord, help him, he didn’t know what to do about it.

            So when Castiel is looking at him expectantly, Dean doesn’t have the slightest clue about what to fucking do. So he just stares back. And when Castiel shifts slightly, allowing their legs to do that holy palmer’s kiss shit, Dean realizes that the television is off and that it’s so quiet he can hear the second hand of his watch ticking like it’s trying to remind him that time has not stopped completely. Because you could literally paint their portrait in the time that it takes Dean’s neurotransmitters to secrete into his medulla oblongata or however the hell breathing worked -- like he said before, he wasn’t the academic.

            “Dean.” Castiel’s rusty voice wafted into the air like a breath in winter, sending a chill down Dean’s spine. He _sees_ Cas and it’s like finally remembering the title of a song you had been trying to recall. It’s that surge of excitement when it comes to you at a random time and you can’t help but blurt it out. Because shit. Dean wanted to blurt it out.  _“I’m in love with this asshole.”_  Dean’s mind is indignant at the admission like he’s betraying everything they’ve strived for. After all the one-night stands, after Cassie, after Lisa, after every woman (and man) in-between, Dean decides to settle on an Angel. Never mind that he was an atheist a few years ago. Never mind that he chooses someone who might not even ever be available to him. His mind tsks ( _how could you, Dean?_ ) at Dean’s choices because if there is one thing that Dean Winchester does consistently, it’s doing things the hard way. So when Cas’s hand touches Dean’s, Dean thinks to do what any rational person would do, but then ignores it and does what ever the hell Dean Winchester wants because doing things the hard way is  _one_  thing he does and being impulsive is the other.

            Dean grabs Castiel’s wrist and pulls it towards him, only vaguely aware that the angel is letting him do so with that questioning look in his eyes.

            “Dean what is-“ Castiel’s words are cut off as Dean pulls the back of his head towards his own, forcing their lips together in true Dean Winchester style. Now the movie scene shit happens. Dean can literally feel his pulse in his toes, blood is rushing through his ears, and all he can hear is Castiel’s gasp and the fucking second hand on his watch. But he can’t stop. Six seconds go by before Castiel begins to relax and shift from his awkward half-crouch to a more comfortable position. Dean hadn’t realized he had breathed out before initiating the kiss, causing him to pull back all too soon to catch his breath. Castiel is looking at him again. There isn’t the questioning look that Dean was anticipating. The look he passes to Dean is the same one he gives when Dean uses human references that Castiel takes literally. It’s a look that says “you kissed me” in true Castiel obviousness, but there is no question in the gaze. His eyes flick between Dean’s eyes and lips before he ticks his tongue and dives back in.

            They can’t stop. Their lips are joined and their hands voyaging to unknown places, testing the waters and boundaries. Dean hisses slightly as Castiel detaches himself and moves towards Dean’s ear, biting the lobe lightly. He has pushed Dean onto his back and looms over him, leaning on his elbows. Everything is suddenly funny. He’s not sure if it’s the ridiculousness of the situation, the slight tickles of Cas’s beard, or just nerves. His head feels like it did when he was eight and blew up thirty balloons for Sam’s birthday. He can’t stop laughing as Castiel nibbles his ear and makes his way towards his neck. It tickles. It tingles. But then the laughter starts to subside slightly to stuttered breaths. Castiel nips at Dean’s carotid, sucking in time with the pulse. Dean’s feet feel cold and he can’t stop wiggling his legs for some reason.

            When Cas sucks at just the right spot and his hand roams on Dean’s chest, it’s everything in his power not to let loose the moan that’s bouncing in his throat.  He breathes in heavily and holds his breath, releasing air through his nose and forcing out chopped sighs that sound like glottal stops. He curses under his breath when Castiel’s hips align with his own, brushing the fabrics into his crotch, sending shivers through his body and manifesting goose bumps that harden his nipples. He frees his left arm from Cas’s forearm and pulls Cas away from his neck with a tug on his hair before replacing his head back onto Dean’s lips. Dean’s right arm wiggles through the cushions for a moment before threading a trail by Castiel’s left hand and worming his way into the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat. Sliding his hand up towards Castiel’s bicep, he begins to sit up slightly and work the trench coat off of the angel. Castiel catches on and curves his back slightly to allow Dean’s chest to have room, keeping his own hips stationary in their straddling position across Dean’s lap.

As Dean removes Castiel’s left arm from its sleeve, the coat falls onto Dean’s knees, slightly hanging over the front of the couch before Castiel drops back onto him, kissing again. Dean moves his hand clockwise across the Angel’s back and trails down towards Cas’s hips and stopping just past the belt loops. Pushing his tongue between Castiel’s lips and accidentally releasing a moan at the angel’s acquiescence, Dean leans more into the kiss by angling his head higher. It was filled with tongue strokes and trust. Each man allowing the other to intimately examine his vulnerabilities. When Dean hooks a finger in one of Castiel’s belt loop and pulls upward causing their crotches to grind, sparks shoot through both of them, ripping simultaneous moan from their throats.

Dean gasps as Castiel repeats the action with more fervor. Dean’s hand mindlessly grabs near Castiel’s back pocket, forcing the man down harder. They groan into each other’s mouths as they continue their pace. Dean’s hips begin to move counterclockwise without his consent. The new angle and the force with which Castiel licks his hard palate cause Dean to close his eyes and hold his breath so hard that he can smell blood. A choking moan barrels out of his of his throat and sings through bunker's acoustics in a hymn of ecstasy. Unable to focus on kissing any longer, Dean pulls his head back and lets the muscles relax as he lets it drop to the couch cushion. Castiel seems satisfied with this, opting to lay his head over Dean’s left shoulder, attaching his lips to Dean’s neck again.

As soon as Castiel’s teeth make contact, Dean’s control clocks out. He sings out a series of curses and moans that he will hate himself for later. But this is too good. It’s too much. Castiel is panting and moaning into his ear with the same eagerness as though Dean’s loss of control was unspoken permission for Castiel to lose his. They grind harder, twisting, shifting to new angles and moaning out with newly discovered sweet spots that bring them closer and closer to the edge. Before Dean knew it, their rhythm becomes more and more erratic as the tension in his lower stomach builds. He only notices that his torso and the backs of his knees were slick with sweat when Castiel’s hands roam over them. As Dean opens his legs just a little wider and shifts his weight more towards his left side, Castiel pulls up from his neck and let out a moan that makes Dean’s toes curl.

With his free arm, he grabs Castiel by the back of the neck and sucks and bites at the man’s jugular all the while keeping the position and using his right arm to swirl Castiel’s ass in a circle as he pushes his own hips upward. The angel’s groans and moans quicken as he lets himself be molded by Dean’s expert touch. They keep the erratic pace before Dean feels his release building.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Cas.” Dean groans between gasps as the pace speeds up.

“Dean. I- Dean. Please.” Dean doesn’t know what Castiel is pleading with him about, but he finds himself responding.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he breathes into Cas’s neck. He groans when Cas takes control of his own thrusts again and his hand shoots out to grab the cushion on the back of the couch. Cas’s hand finds Dean’s in a desperate grasp. Dean hadn’t realized how hard he was gripping the fabric until Cas uncurls his fingers. Dean spreads his digits for Cas to lace his own between before the tightness in his stomach reaches its peak.

“Oh god. Cas!” Dean cries out, barely hearing Castiel cry out his name as their hips stutter together. He goes slightly deaf as the ringing in his ears takes over, no longer hearing his own moans as his orgasm shakes through his body and rings through his bones like church bells at noon. It was a full forty seconds of heavy breathing before Dean comes down enough to feel Castiel’s dead weight on top of him.

As they both catch their breath, Dean finds himself feeling guilty for not really feeling guilty about what just transpired. But Dean looks back into the azure eyes of his angel. They silently bore into the other’s thoughts. Was Castiel okay with this? Well of course he was. He could have definitely stopped Dean if he wasn’t okay with it. But did he  _understand_  what it meant? At least what it meant to Dean. A moment of panic chimes through Dean’s body as Castiel opens his mouth to say something.

“Five years, seven months, twenty-three days, and seventeen hours, Dean,” is Castiel’s decided post-coital opener. Dean stares for a few heart beats before erupting in laughter because boy was he ever a Winchester in that moment. Dean smiles before replying.

“But who’s counting, right?” Dean smirks at Castiel’s half smile and eagerly kisses his angel for the umpteenth time that night.

 

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a little Destiel sex scene. Nothing too raunchy. But I'm a virgin and I'm lame, so that's my excuse. This is just a little story I kind of felt like whipping up while I was reading some other Destiel stuff. But feel free to leave me a comment! If you want some more Destiel goodness or want to send me prompts or also have a blog on [Tumblr](http://little-spn-obsessed.tumblr.com/) with awesome Destiel/Supernatural/fan fiction, then hit me up!
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO:
> 
> In case you were wondering, yes, the medulla does actually control breathing. It's part of the ANS, so it controls respirations. So Dean kinda knew what he was talking about haha. I'm a nursing major. Trust me on this.


End file.
